


Baby, I'm Under Your Spell

by UsedRomance



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Age Play, Anal Play, Coercion, Consensual Non-Consent, Established Relationship, Hypnotism, M/M, Manipulation, Off-Screen Negotiation, Oral Sex, Rape Roleplay, Teasing, intoxication play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-07-23 16:18:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16162448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UsedRomance/pseuds/UsedRomance
Summary: Harry asks Merlin to make him feel young and vulnerable like he did at Statesman. Merlin is a greedy, horrible man and happily agrees.





	1. Chapter 1

Merlin liked control – over himself, over others, in any configuration. He couldn't be in his position otherwise, having to manage not just a team of techs and handlers but the nine strong-headed agents of the table. It was why found his passion in creating and tinkering with technology, manipulating objects with his hands and his knowledge; it was why he found mission-handling so satisfying, because no matter what contrarian decisions agents made or what unexpected factors came into play, everything was within  _his_ design.  

So it wasn't a total surprise when he learned of and became enamored with hypnosis, a choreographed manipulation that seemed, when done right, almost like magic. The first time he became interested in that sort of play was an accident, ironically enough; a misplaced word and well-placed gesture made his partner pliant in a way that hours of impact or firm orders couldn’t. But the first time Merlin mentioned to Harry, the agent had shied away from the idea. This was no surprise, either. As much as Merlin liked having control, Harry hated losing it.  

The real surprise came after they had taken down Poppy and Harry was the one to bring up the idea again.  

They were lounging in bed on a shared evening off, Merlin sitting up against the backboard cushioned by their too-many pillows and Harry lying sideways, resting his head on Merlin’s lap. Their night was a peaceful one for the most part, trying to read (mission reports for Merlin, a cheesy spy novel for Harry) before bed.  _Trying_ , because, for the past half hour, Merlin’s years of familiarity as Harry’s co-trainee, handler, and then partner clued him in to Harry’s subtle brand of nervous fidgeting – his flipping back and forth between the same pages of his book, since he couldn’t seem to keep track of what he was reading; his periodic sigh (obviously not in response to his reading material due to the previously noted behavior); even the most minute of movements from his pyjama-clad shoulders to his socked feet, not his usual shifting for comfort but as if he were physically fortifying himself.  

“Are you going to spit it out, or do I have to send you to the guest so I can finish this report?”  

Harry huffed a laugh, resigned, unsurprised to be caught out. In a series of movements designed to both stall and initiate the conversation, he closed his book to rest on the bedside table on Merlin’s side, using the motion to settle himself atop the man. His ridiculous, long legs curled around Merlin's hips, and once he plucked the tablet from his hands to put on top of the book, he took a moment to smooth his hands on the man’s bare chest. For a moment, the handler wondered if Harry was going to try distracting him.  

“What is it, love?” he prompted again more gently, responding to the touch by framing Harry’s face with his hands, fingertips massaging the thick hairline so carefully managed by hundred-pound products.   

“I was wondering if you would be amenable to us revisiting hypnosis.”  

Of all the responses Merlin could have predicted, that was one of the least anticipated.  “Were you? And why is that?” It wasn’t as if they were stagnant in their extracurricular activities and  _needed_  revitalization – at least, as far as he was aware. Yes, between their ages and their demanding positions with Kingsman, they didn’t necessarily have the time or energy for such rigorous games like they used to, but just two nights ago Harry had accosted Merlin as soon as he came home from an overnight stint at the manor; a week before that, they spent the entirety of a rare mutual day off together in bed.  

"You've always talked about the...  _possibilities_ available with hypnotism." Merlin nearly raised his eyebrow at the uncharacteristic hesitation. Harry’s next words were slow, deliberate, as much to reflect his care in choosing them as to show the weight of the secret that was being pried from him. "I want to experience what I felt when I was – at Statesman."  

Harry’s unscarred eye blinked widely and his mouth shaped a soft  _oh,_ surprise at his own verbalized desires. This tested Merlin's control over his expression even further; luckily, he knew as well as an agent how to manipulate his presentation, a skill handlers had to cultivate extensively even behind their screens. It was that part of himself which took over, knowing how to keep his expression carefully neutral and navigate Harry through the rest of his self-assigned mission.  

Merlin thought again to that night earlier in the week, how Harry asked to be held down, to be restrained. Even while this retrospective hint gave him a glimpse into the forthcoming answer, he encouraged Harry further, “I need you to be a little more specific, love.” 

"I want to feel -" There was a longer pause this time as Harry cast around for the right finish, and another when he found it but couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Here, again, Merlin caught a flash of what he knew to be a shadow of the Harry they were so shocked to find behind the glass at Statesman, the Harry who was unburdened by the knowledge of what they do, what they’ve done, but also utterly alienated from his life and helpless for it.  

With the brown eye fluttering away and chin dipping closer to his chest, like a crocus closing in the night, Harry suddenly seemed timid in a way Merlin only ever saw on missions when he had to play the uncertain older gentlemen for marks to believe they could overpower, outsmart. He was showing Merlin as much as he was telling him.  

 “I’d like your help in making me feel vulnerable.” It was Merlin’s turn to be momentarily speechless. The air left him in a hurry when, as if the agent’s hands were applying a physical pressure, Harry added onto the weight of his words with a further explanation. "I was stranded with strange people who I knew, who I saw, were stronger than me, more knowledgeable than me. Perhaps - or rather, almost certainly, the influence of my state of mind, my feeling of youngness has something to do with it. I think my perceived inexperience and inability contributed to my... my fear."  

Submission was something they played with occasionally, but that was different than what Harry was asking for. This wasn’t just about feeling secure in bondage or overwhelmed by Merlin’s strength. This was something entirely new.  

But at least this part, the discussion of it, was more familiar. Harry had already gone so far in his explanation of his new desire, but as Merlin ran the pad of his thumb over the knuckles of Harry’s clenched hand on his chest, he knew he had to push his partner one more time.  

“This is a bit different than other games we’ve played. You're interested in age regression as a means of experiencing loss of power, does that sound right?" he asked gently down to their clasped hands, letting his fingers open up Harry’s again.  

The connection allowed him to feel the momentary tension running through Harry’s body before the man, with a tremble, collapsed out of his tightly wound frame and further into Merlin’s space. “Yes.  _Please_.” With Harry so close now, Merlin only needed to turn his head to catch their lips together. They moved into each other in a familiar ebb, hands caressing sensitive skin and firm muscles, not needing to escalate higher or travel lower, but just feeding from the passion in the other.  

It was Merlin who broke the rhythm out of the need to offer a warning for the impatient lover under his hands, one of which tugged at Harry’s hair so they could press foreheads together and pant against each other’s faces like they weren’t too old to let a little snogging get them so worked up.  

"Harry, it will take a lot of practice to reach that point, you understand?" But the warning was either unheeded or Harry didn’t seem to care how long it might take. So close together, Merlin saw how Harry seemed to blossom with the blush from their kissing, his uninjured eye wide and hungry, reaching for Merlin even while the handler tightened the grip to keep Harry from touching their lips together again. “What you’re asking for – it mightn't happen for weeks."  

“Yes, but aren't you the one who says the anticipation is part of the fun?" Ironic, how Harry so faithfully recounted one of Merlin’s fondest assertions while apparently unconscious of how he strained so slightly against the hold on his hair to reach Merlin again.  

Unable to help himself any longer, he jerked Harry’s head further back suddenly, sighing in counterpoint to the pleased little gasp. Merlin grinned his slow, dark grin to remind Harry that with or without their games, he could exert power with such easy effort. "You're right." He kissed the newly exposed throat, letting Harry feel the movement of lips against such sensitive skin when he promised, "And what fun we'll have." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to point out any errors. I should have the next chapter posted in a week (I hope). 
> 
> Comments and kudos give me life. <3 Also, I'm on tumblr as usedromance!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "... it was just as Harry had mentioned all those weeks ago: the anticipation was half the fun."

In a course of a number of weeks which turned into months, Merlin taught Harry how to let himself fall into trace, eventually giving him longer sessions, and then, more complex suggestions. For the majority of their relationship, they had kept this type of play almost exclusively in the realm of theoretical discussion; the months of practice allowed them to learn their limits and interests in these games.They learned what sorts of phrases worked or didn’t work and what headspaces were more or less difficult for them both to access; they experimented to find out what made Harry a puddle of arousal and what made Merlin lose his breath; they realized quickly that they should stay away from personas too closely resembling ghosts from certain missions.  

Yet while they had played with hypnotic age regression often and played with sexual acts under hypnosis occasionally, Merlin hadn't mixed the two.  

Until, finally,  _finally_ he did.  

"Put those on."  

When Harry came home, Merlin had already started preparing the way for their scene, positioning himself in a seat in their bedroom, lights low, tumbler of whisky in one hand while the other cradled he knee of his crossed leg. On the bed was a set of familiar casual clothing Merlin had taken to having him wear when they played with regression. The outfit accumulated fresh memories and new connections so that every time they dressed Harry, he accessed that special headspace more and more easily. Harry's suits reminded him that he was poised, powerful, protected; Merlin needed him to feel none of these things. Instead, Harry wore a t-shirt that was a touch too large, trakkies that were just a bit too long, and an eyepatch to hide the dangerous-looking scar. He was made to feel small, out-of-place, uncomfortable. This was his uniform to help reaffirm his younger state of mind.  

Despite the artifacts of familiarity, this was the first time they would play with this headspace in the bedroom, all the other times having taken place in the neutral space of the living room; he had been promising to make the shift for days. Harry didn’t make any attempts to hide his glee to know the promise was finally being fulfilled, but Merlin was pleased to see that the man remembered himself and carefully put away his suit rather than rushing as he would have a few weeks ago. It was their scene, but it was Merlin’s game – he was the one who set the pace, not Harry.  

“Can I ask what you have in mind for tonight?”  

“I think you know.” 

“Well, I’m not sure I do,” he returned, digging for details he knew Merlin wouldn’t impart so soon. “I know we’ve talked about a few scenarios -”  

“And you know that I won’t deviate from those. Just think of it as a surprise from your wishlist.”  

The last phrase had Harry’s gaze surveying the room in that skillful way of agents, brief but meticulous, searching for a gift Merlin would sometimes present to him in these types of scenes, often as a type of reward for whatever exercise they were engaging in for the evening. Art supplies, books, and on a special occasion, a butterfly specimen. Though he didn’t find any, he still donned a demure tone when he started to put on the soft, ill-fitting clothes.  

“Yes, Merlin.”  

Was it the clothing that colored his voice and tempered his mischief so quickly? Or was it a conscious decision, an understanding that complying would be in both their best interests, rather trying to press Merlin any further? It didn’t make a difference whether Harry was being earnest or not; the sight and sound of him made Merlin’s hunger sharpen, drawing him to where Harry sat on the bed, unseeingly setting his class beside the whisky decanter on the bureau. A knowing smile greeted him when he lifted a knee onto the bed, halfway to joining Harry like he would have in other circumstances; but for now, he just kneeled over his casually clad lover, an arm against the headboard, framing the pretty picture Harry made when Merlin stroked up the tender skin of his throat, petal soft and vulnerable to the greedy grasp. The hold pushed Harry’s head back so he was looking up at Merlin from beneath fluttering eyelashes through an eye tempted to shut and help his drop into half-consciousness (with or without Merlin’s invitation).  

“Darling,” Harry whispered as if from a dream, supplicating and demanding all at once, with the tone of someone who knew he barely had to ask for what he wanted. Merlin complied with a dip down to the waiting mouth for just a sample of the feast being prepared, feeling every inch the predating old man Harry wanted to make him, that he wanted to make himself.  

“You know what I’m going to do to you.”  

“Yes.”  

“You know our safeword?”  

“Yes.”   

"Good. Are you ready, Harry?"  

"Yes,  _yes_ , please, Merlin."  

His breathing had quickened nearly imperceptibly, this miniscule change revealing Harry’s increasing excitement. Merlin pulled away, ignoring the hungry look trailing after him while walked back the bureau, taking another sip of his drink, letting it roll on his tongue for a moment – for no other reason, really, other than to make Harry wait for him.  

When he returned to stand a measured distance from the bed, setting his glass on the nightstand beside a damp brush he had made sure to prepare earlier, Harry had hardly settled his breathing. Still far enough not to be touching, Merlin ordered, “Sit up. Face me. Feet on the ground.” He waited for Harry to comply before uttering the most promising command. “Close your eyes.”  

Everything from the clothing to his words primed Harry for their game, and he knew the man wanted to sink, wanted to lose himself under Merlin's direction. But their game had already begun, hadn’t it? Even if, at first glance, Harry looked almost meditative in his stillness, a closer inspection revealed how tightly he had been wound with expectation, a ripened fruit shuddering on a straining branch, waiting to be plucked – and God, how Merlin wanted to  _devour_  him. 

**B** ut it was just as Harry had mentioned all those weeks ago: the anticipation was half the fun.  

Standing in front of Harry, he began brushing his hair slowly with the wettened brush, serving the dual purpose of beginning to lull Harry and to remove the product form his hair, bringing it out of the polished coif and back to its natural curl. Once hair was properly fluffed and the man was sufficiently calmed, he lay the brush down beside his glass. When he returned to Harry with hands on his shoulders, he started synchronizing their breathing with nothing more than the contact and a deliberate, deep breath.  

As relaxed as Harry seemed, Merlin could still identify the little signals showing his attentiveness and expectancy, waiting to see what Merlin would do to put him into trance this time. He couldn’t blame his lover for being excited about what was to come, but now he needed him focused.  

With that thought in mind, he slowly lifted a hand from Harry’s shoulder, stroking a single finger from the center of Harry’s hairline down along the bridge of his nose. “Go deep,” he invited with a sigh they shared.  

The effect was immediate after all the practice Harry had in the recent months. It was like he flicked a switch; the muscles of Harry’s face fell out of any particular expression into one of neutrality and his breathing seemed to come easier, less a conscious attempt to maintain a rhythm and more like he had dropped from a riverbank into an inexorable stream, an entirely new force overtaking control of his body. 

Still keeping one hand on Harry's shoulder as if to anchor him, Merlin let his other start a new path on the opposite shoulder, sliding a gentle path down to his wrist.

“Deeper.” 

The rest of Harry’s body released the tension of his muscles; the fists on his knees opened and Merlin turned them to expose the palms, dragging fingers down again, this time from his wrist to the tip of his finger. 

"Deeper."  

When Harry’s head began to loll forward, Merlin caught his chin and readjusted him, knowing it wouldn’t be comfortable for him to strain his neck. Satisfied that Harry would remain in position, Merlin let his fingertips drift lower, over the man’s Adam's apple, the curve of his collar bone, lower still, down the line of his sternum – he no longer needed to use the motion to put Harry further into trance, but knew the touch would keep Harry floating. 

He opened his hand before he reached the line of Harry’s pants and moved upwards again to stoke broadly over his chest, following the rise and fall of the man’s steady breathing.  

“You’re doing so well, Harry.” 

An absent smile curved the man’s lips. He was down, out of wakefulness; down, safe under Merlin's watchful eye; down, adrift in the dark and warm and soft.  

" _Deeper_."  

And with this last command came the physical, literal push from Merlin's hand, dropping Harry to the airy comforter, and Christ, did Merlin love it. His own pulse quickened at the sight of his entranced lover, just a slab of clay waiting to be molded and manipulated by him.  

"What a good boy, Harry," he cooed, a tone he would never get away with using if Harry was completely conscious. As it was, the man just gave a loose, dopey grin. "Now, little lamb, you're going to settle yourself into that small place you like so much, aren't you? You know that place, you've been there so many times, because you've been  _so good_ at following directions. You can do this so easily, love, isn't that right?"  

Just the soft twitch of his lips and tiny nod were enough for Merlin. 

"I see you’re already there, sweetheart. I want you to stay in that happy little headspace.” Harry smiled again (whether for the pet name or the evocation of his mental state, it didn’t matter to Merlin). He was right where Merlin needed him.  

“Open your eyes, little lamb."  

Watching Harry coming up was nearly as delicious as watching him go down, especially when the sleepy eye opened with less sharpness than before, his gaze softly focusing on Merlin rather than taking in the rest of the room, and his face still lax but for the upward curve to his lips.  

"Hello, Harry." 

"Hello, Hamish." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before, please feel free to point out any errors. 
> 
> I had to add another chapter break because reasons, but I should have the next chapter posted in a week, if not sooner!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The pass of his tongue over his bottom lip was unpracticed and unintentional, and Merlin swallowed at the transparency of Harry’s desire. Heaven, help him, he was going to destroy this boy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see content warning for this chapter in the end notes.

The voice greeting Merlin was more subdued than before the trance, only one of many clues pointing to the transformation Harry underwent; the greeting itself was another. Though Merlin rarely used his Christian name, it helped them both to distance their games from their day-to-day lives. As Harry sat up from his prone position, his body language spoke volumes – he seemed to shrink into himself, limbs tight together as he brought his knees up to his chin, one arm wrapped around them while the other remained on the bed, grabbing the material of the comforter in fidgeting fingers. 

In slow movements broadcasting his intent, Merlin sat beside him and took hold of the hand on the covers, bringing it up to his lips to press quiet kisses to the knuckles. Predictably, the gesture made Harry huff out a little laugh. 

They had never mixed sexual play with this headspace of Harry’s, no, but Merlin did work to  _groom_ him in preparation for tonight (a word that they decided on early in their discussions but still made Merlin dry-mouthed to think) _._  Subtle touches and phrases, gifts cunningly bestowed, promises exchanged – they all worked to build up the hunger that neither the little lamb nor Merlin would not fully acknowledge, a hunger that this Harry could not fully understand. 

The innocent kisses were comfortably familiar to them after all this time, and still Harry smiled and blushed and carelessly exposed his delight, a far cry from the calculated agent Merlin knew. 

Thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of Harry’s hand, Merlin finally prompted, “Well?” 

“‘Well?’ what?” 

“Aren’t you going to ask me what we’re doing here?” 

For the first time, his little lamb looked about himself and realized he was in an unfamiliar room – and even more obviously, that it was a  _bedroom_.  Undeterred, the boy asked, “Does this mean we’re learning something new today, Hamish?” and added more brazenly, “Am I to receive a present?” 

Merlin closed his eyes and brought their joined hands up to his mouth again, hiding his smile when he answered, “Yes, we will. And you’ll receive a gift of sorts, little lamb. One I hope you’ll enjoy very much.” He pressed another kiss to the smooth knuckles, wondering already if he had overestimated the amount of patience he would need to get his greedy hands on other (more exciting) parts of the lad. 

“But first,” he peered up at Harry over the rim of his glasses, still speaking into the ensnared fingers as if the hand would hold his poisonous words, “I thought you might like to play a game with me.” 

Harry guessed with apparent dismay, “Is it going to be Simon Says again?" They had played such childish games more frequently than he liked. 

“Not tonight, lucky for you.” With one last kiss, Merlin let go of his hand, moving on to needlessly adjust Harry’s shirt and hair, just for an excuse to touch, all the while thinking of what a mess he would make soon. “I was thinking Truth or Dare.” 

“Oh!” 

Merlin paused in fussing with Harry’s appearance to ask with feigned surprise, “Have you ever played before, little lamb?” 

Harry clutched his legs closer to his body at the question. Of course Merlin knew the answer already, but he raised an eyebrow expectantly, waiting to hear what Harry would say. 

“I – the – the boys at my school,” he bit his lip and picked at the cloth of his tracksuit bottoms. “They would play, sometimes.” He blinked rapidly as if trying to collect the words in the blackness behind his closed eye, like he couldn’t bear to be honest but wasn’t used to being deceptive and needed to find an in-between. “They’d – they’d make each other do things. Admit to things. Sometimes there would be – kissing –” 

Listening to the halting speech and watching the shy, evasive manner stoked the fire in Merlin which started the moment Harry went under; but just as effectively, the behavior reminded him to tighten the reigns on his own composure. It was as if he had caught a juice-thick fruit in his grasp and was thumbing at the skin, trying to reveal the meat, the parts of the little lamb never shown before. He needed to stop himself from piercing straight through to the core and digging out a furrow, knowing he needed to take care and savor the experience. 

This was the mantra he needed to repeat to himself over the pulsing hum calling for him to thrust Harry into the darkest of his fantasies –  _their_ fantasies. 

But for all his silent reminders to maintain a gentle decline into the impending depravity, he couldn’t help but ask for a small taste. “Really?” his tone was of astonishment, as if amazed that the boy would participate in such games, “Is it alright if  _I_ kiss you, then?” 

Harry didn’t start with surprise as Merlin thought he might; rather, he gave another delighted little smile, still flushed with embarrassment from his recent admission. “Yes, please, Hamish.” The pass of his tongue over his bottom lip was unpracticed and unintentional, and Merlin swallowed at the transparency of Harry’s desire. Heaven, help him, he was going to destroy this boy. 

With a carefulness reserved for handling delicate blooms, he leaned forward, every one of his senses straining to take in the tableau before him: Harry’s eye fluttering closed just before their lips touched; the air of his sigh when they finally met; his minute trembling, in either excitement or nervousness. Merlin could swear that even his taste was different when Harry pressed forward with an open, questing mouth and touched their tongues together - still the flavor of his lover, but somehow nectar-sweet, as if his body was cooperating with their fantasy and changing his very chemistry. 

He wasn’t the only one attentive to the taste of their intimacy. Harry pulled away, licking his slick lips to chase the clue Merlin left on them. “What...?” 

In answer to the unfinished question, Merlin leaned forward to grab his tumbler from the nightstand, taking the opportunity to press against Harry and bury his nose in the fluffy hair, to let his lips just brush the naked skin at his nape as he withdrew. He made no comment on the strangled noise the boy made, but held it tight in his mind, promising himself to collect more of those pleasured responses as the night went on. 

He mimed another sip from his drink, just letting the whisky wet his lips and tongue. Harry hardly seemed to know what to do with the naked want Merlin could discern in his stare. Merlin could take him now, he knew; he could keep teasing out Harry’s desire with kisses and touches and pretty words. The lamb looked just about ready to ask – but they had only just begun. 

“It’s whisky.” He tipped the glass slightly, distracting Harry with the slosh of the amber liquid. In a lower, conspiratorial tone, he invited, “Would you like a sip?” 

The tactic worked. An equally hushed whisper returned, “I thought I wasn’t allowed.” 

“Perhaps we can make an exception for tonight. Although, I only have one glass. You don’t mind sharing, do you?” 

Harry shook his head before the end of the question, already reaching for the offering. His first sip was as eager as their kiss, only this time, his nose wrinkled at the taste and his face reddened from the effort not to cough. Even as Merlin patted his back, he wondered under the surface of his concern whether Harry would exhibit such effort when he had Merlin’s cock down his throat. 

“I’m sorry, lamb, I should have warned you... Are you alright? Do you still want to play?”

“Yes, I’m fine, I promise, Hamish.” As if to prove his point, he took another thimble-sized sip and managed to only cough twice before finally setting the drink aside. 

“As you wish – so, then, truth or dare?” 

“... Truth.” 

“Hm... Do you like spending time with me?” 

The red of Harry’s cheeks increasingly seemed to be permanent. “Yes, of course I do.” Before Merlin could pry further, Harry interrupted, “My turn! Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” 

“Did you... did you enjoy it, when we kissed?” 

“Yes, immensely. And I would be very happy if I got another kiss.” Harry tucked his lip between his teeth, nibbling in consideration. “Truth or dare, darling?” 

“Dare.” 

“I dare you to... unbutton my cardigan.” 

His fingers didn’t start trembling until he reached the lowest three buttons, and while he tried not to stare at the curve under Merlin’s trousers, the avoidance just made Merlin more excited – though he was mindful to keep his expression patient. 

When Merlin chose “dare,” Harry thought for a moment, and Merlin held his breath, only to let it out in a chuckle at hearing, “I dare you to pour more whisky.” 

“Of course.” He was grateful for the momentary reprieve from the heat of Harry’s body while he moved to the bureau to retrieve the decanter – it also gave him the opportunity to adjust himself so he wasn’t frightening Harry with his bulge upon returning to the bedside. Upon pouring a splash of whisky and recapping the bottle, he cautioned, “You know, it would be irresponsible of me to let you drink too much.” 

“Oh please, I’m not a child.” He tried to grab the glass himself, but Merlin slid it to the end of the table, just out of his reach. 

“No, certainly not, darling.” Harry’s attempt had him learning forward right at the edge of the bed, so it was nothing at all for Merlin to run the back of his fingers up the line of Harry’s exposed neck, raising his chin so Harry was looking up at him (a perverted mirror image of their positioning earlier in the evening, Merlin's mind helpfully supplied). “But you must know how troublesome it would be if someone found out about... all this.” The weight of the implications hung in the air for a moment.

“I won’t tell.” He licked his lips, and Merlin’s gaze darkened, and for one moment, he wondered if he was about to burn through their evening in the next moment. He could manage to wait, he knew, If he could just - 

He moved without thinking, collecting another kiss from the boy as if it wasn’t an additional strain on his self-control. And, in all fairness, he did try to pull away when he realized the danger he was in, only Harry chased him and Merlin groaned, because what was he to do? Deny the hungry little creature? 

Burying his hands in the cloud-thick hair, he bent over Harry, tilting his head further back and causing the boy to emit a high whine, though Merlin couldn’t bring himself to care if it was from discomfort or desire. He dipped his tongue into the panting mouth, as if he could tease out more noises with his efforts, if he could only taste them and find them that way. Harry hesitantly placed his hands on Merlin’s biceps, though he didn’t exert any pressure to push Merlin away, fingers just digging into the muscles when Merlin performed a particular trick with his tongue or tugged his hair just so.  

When they finally tore away from each other, both panting and slick-lipped, Merlin couldn’t help but notice the erection starting to form in the loose-fitting tracksuit pants. Harry had his hands behind him now, supporting himself on the bed and unintentionally causing him to look more and more like an offering, splayed out and dewy-eyed. Merlin sat at the edge of the bed facing the boy, hovering just beside him, no longer touching so as to better construct his next steps - he had a plan, he was in control he –  

He stared at Harry’s reddened lips as he rasped out, “Truth or dare?” 

“Wh- Truth – I suppose.” 

He wasn’t in control, or not the rational part of himself. He was possessed by his own lust, controlled by Harry’s desire. “Would you like to do more than kissing, little lamb?” 

Harry bit his lip, looking directly into Merlin’s eyes when he whispered back, “Yes, Hamish.” 

If this was Harry, the spy, he would have spread his legs, emphasized his own evidence of desire; perhaps he would have arched his back, parted his mouth slightly and sighed needily, tired of the taunting and impatient to find release. But this Harry - he wasn’t tactful or tactical, just  _hungry_  and responding to Merlin’s hunger in turn. 

So once more, Merlin pulled tightly at the reins of his lust, and stood up to retrieve the drink from the bedside table. Back to Harry, he took a sip and a deep breath. 

“Your turn.” 

“Dare.” He turned the glass in his hand, tipping it from side to side and watching the liquid move to distract himself while he waited for Harry’s order. 

“Kiss me again. Like you did before.” 

He was lucky to still be facing away from the bed, because he needed a moment squeeze his eyes shut and press a hand to his cock through his pants. His teeth practically itched with the need to bite into the morsel behind him, and there he was,  _asking_ for Merlin to ravish him. 

“Hamish?” 

“I will, I will, darling.” He swirled the whisky in the glass once more in consideration, grinning when an idea struck him. He hoped he looked less predatory when he turned around. “I dare  _you_...” He put his hand over Harry’s eyes, a move that had him swaying slightly, so reminiscent of other hypnotic triggers.  “...not to peek.” With Harry’s nod, Merlin moved his hand down to Harry’s chin. Taking a small sip of his drink in his mouth, he pressed a kiss to Harry’s lips, parting them with his tongue and letting the alcohol pass through between them. Hand now at his throat, Merlin was able to feel as well as hear the little choking sounds of surprise while he struggled to swallow the bitter drink again. When Merlin repeated the exercise, Harry struggled a little less, and then a little less the time after that. 

He finally put the glass down again when it was empty, Harry blinking rapidly and looking up at Merlin dazedly. 

“Hamish... I feel...” 

“A bit dizzy?” 

“Yes...”

“That’ll pass, love. Maybe when you’re older you’ll be able to drink as much as me, hm? Now... your turn.” 

“Truth.” The tone of uncertainty didn’t escape Merlin’s notice. It was as if he had lurched Harry into the deep end of the pool with his liquid kisses – it was as if the darling thought he had a chance to swim back to the shallow end now. 

But Merlin’s restraint vanished with the whisky currently muddling Harry’s head. 

"Have you ever touched yourself, you pretty thing?" For his blunt question, he was awarded an exhibition of uneasiness – a darkened blush, head ducking down towards his chest as if that could hide his coloring, an arm coming up to wrap around his chest. 

"No! Why would you -? Of course not -" 

"Oh, lamb, you needn’t be embarrassed." One leg on the ground and one knee curled up on the bed beside Harry, Merlin gently took hold of Harry's wrists, bringing them up to his lips and letting his lips and breath tease at the sensitive skin there. 

"What are you – Hamish -?"

"You can tell me." Merlin trailed a slow path up Harry's bare arms, leaving only closed-mouthed kisses along the way to the boy's neck. "I can keep a secret." Still the boy kept his silence, the only noise coming from his heavy pants as Merlin abused his knowledge of just how to play this body. "I do, you know." He stroked a pattern around the quickened pulse with his thumb, punctuated by more kisses.  

A small, secretive voice asked, "You do what?" 

“I like to touch my cock.” The consonants touched Harry's throat relentlessly, and though the boy whined and turned his face away, there was no way for him to hide the blush which travelled to his neck and ears. Merlin wanted to lick a stripe along his newly exposed nape, swallow more of his taste, but didn't want the boy to keep withdrawing. 

No, he had a better idea. 

"I could show you how, if you like." 

The invitation was sufficiently tantalizing; Harry stilled, no longer trying to hide but still wary. "Show me?" 

Now that they were truly in the final stages of his plan, Merlin was feeling recklessly amused. “Is that a dare?” 

“... Yes.” 

"Oh, yes," he sighed to the fluttering artery. "As long as you don't tell anyone." 

"I won't!" Merlin couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or groan at the quick response, "I promise, Hamish, I won't." 

His teeth bared into a hungry grin at the soft, vulnerable flesh. 

"Then try to stay quiet for me, little lamb." He watched the tremble of the boy's Adam's apple as he swallowed back a response, offering a nod of agreement instead and sealing his imminent destruction. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be warned that I’m pretty ambiguous about the age of Harry’s younger headspace, so it’s possible to read it as anything from grey area to worse - that said, there are hints pointing to an older age range. Again, this is age play + sex, so please proceed with caution. 
> 
> Otherwise, please feel free to point out any errors. Comments and kudos give me life!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If they had spent a few weeks less practicing and experimenting, would he have been able to move more cautiously? If he hadn’t taken so much time to construct such deep trust in the little lamb, would his need to weaponize that trust feel any less incendiary?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see content warning for this chapter in the end notes.
> 
> Aaaand sorry for the delay! I don't know why but I had to rework this chapter like 5 times. And I know despite the drafting and editing there's STILL going to be mistakes but I really wanted to get this out before 2018 ended!

There was a little voice in Merlin’s head (one that always seemed to be present, planning and assessing, no matter the circumstances) which speculated on whether he would feel quite so impatient if not for the months preparing for this very night. If they had spent a few weeks less practicing and experimenting, would he have been able to move more cautiously? If he hadn’t taken so much time to construct such deep trust in the little lamb, would his need to weaponize that trust feel any less incendiary? 

As it was, his lust felt like burning acid, like it was peeling away his carefully-crafted façade and dripping onto the bud of a boy in his arms, even as he cooed with put-upon tenderness, “If you’re very good, maybe I’ll give you your present.” 

Laying back on Merlin’s chest with hands obediently clasped behind the man’s neck, Harry whined and thrust his hips into the empty air. The pose left his front completely exposed to Merlin’s wandering touch, and the vulnerability of it had him salivating. 

Merlin could count the heartbeats between when he started his tactile mapping of Harry’s clothed body and when the boy started to make impatient noises, shifting and wriggling to try to get a hand where Merlin still hadn’t touched – the apparent bulge curving up against the loose cloth of his pants. The suffering wasn’t one-sided; with his uncalculated undulations, Harry’s arse rubbed against his cock, already hard for nearly too long to be comfortable. Harry’s positioning would have been perfect for deliberate counter-teasing, but this lamb was unfamiliar with the arousal and need being stoked in him, let alone the power he held in the lustful tightness of his body. 

"Hamish,” he gasped when a hand traveling down his stomach retraced its path up, “you said that you'd _show_ me!" 

Merlin was grateful to again be beyond Harry’s line of sight, his face pressed to Harry’s blind left side, tonguing at his ear just below the strap of the eyepatch; it meant he didn’t have to hide the smug look at hearing the boy starting to beg. He let his fingertips drag down the length of Harry’s body until, claw-like, his fingers curled into the sensitive flesh of a taut thigh, causing another throaty sound that Harry seemed to have no control over. 

“Of course, darling.” He let his thumb brush over Harry’s lip proprietarily, swallowing when the boy’s mouth fell open, an invitation (a _promise_ if Merlin had anything to say about it). “How could I be so remiss?” 

Having Harry positioned like a religious offering was not just for control, but for information – when Merlin finally slid over the hot swell of Harry’s prick, he felt as much as he heard the wondrous sigh at the first touch. 

“ _Oh_.” 

He rubbed a steady pattern with the meat of his palm, just enough for Harry to feel but with pressure so light, he hardly unsettled the fabric of the pants. Though his unscarred eye was closed, Harry’s whole body projected his need; his breath quickened, his lashes fluttered, his throat emitted small moans as if to keep from disturbing Merlin’s work. He kept his hands in place as Merlin had instructed, though they pulsed out an irregular clutching beat even as his hips writhed in uncoordinated movements, trying to work up against Merlin’s hand and get more sensation. But Merlin just lifted his hands with the motions, unwilling to let Harry take what he needed just yet. 

“Will you show me your cock, pretty thing?” Whispering the request right into Harry’s ear, he felt the shudder the tickle of his breath caused, and he felt Harry jerking right up into his hand. 

“I – I don't think –”  

“You’re feeling good, aren’t you?” Merlin began to use the tips of his finger to massage the rigid organ, tracing the bump of the cockhead down to the sensitive balls below. “Wouldn’t you like to feel even better?” When the boy hesitated, biting his lip and flexing his hands as if preparing to cover himself, Merlin prompted with a dash of well-feigned hurt, “Don’t you trust me, love?” 

“Of course I do!” How could he not, after the weeks of care Merlin took to develop rapport with this part of Harry? He only hesitated for a moment more before nodding, giving Merlin permission to tug down the waistband of his pants, effectively dislodging the source of stimulation but providing Merlin the delectable view of his flushed cock. 

In reward, the man slicked the tips of his fingers in the precum at Harry’s tip, painting lines down to his base and making the boy keen again. With his other hand, he pushed Harry’s shirt up, tugging and stroking at the bared nipples. He wished he had thought to set up equipment to record their evening; he could only imagine how they looked now, Harry buried in Merlin’s increasingly lascivious hold, limbs wrapping around Harry as if to keep him from writhing away – or from pushing him off. 

But he needn’t worry about such a thing (for now). No, now was the time for Harry to grow so aroused that he couldn’t sit comfortably in his skin, for him to need more and more of Merlin’s touch to help him to the precipice slowly coming into view. 

One hand remained high on Harry’s torso, keeping the boy steady when he finally gave a full-length stroke. Harry keened, arching up into the anchoring hold and blushing a fetching pink as Merlin continued his slow, measured rhythm; he buried his face into his upturned arm, away from Merlin, as if he could possibly hide any evidence of his pleasure when there were so many glaring traces of it – his pinkened skin, his high whines, his jerking movements. Merlin licked the sensitive patch of Harry’s neck, and was convinced he could taste Harry’s lust on his skin, like his desire was so great manifested physically to taint his sweat. 

“Look at how I’m touching you, Harry,” he demanded. When the boy just shook his head, shrinking further, he tugged one of the pointed nipples in admonishment. “How can I teach you if you’re not cooperating, little lamb?” He took Harry’s chin in his hand and met no resistance as he turned the lad’s head; he touched a kiss to the corner of his lips in reward. “You’re my good boy, aren’t you?”

“I’m – I’m watching.” 

“Put your hand on mine… Very good. Not too tight... Now, don’t try to move so fast, no. The pleasure should build up slowly – yes, that’s the way...”

Merlin let the boy’s gasps wash over him, focusing on keeping Harry’s pace steady though it was obvious he was hungry to reach his peak. Of course, Merlin was wholly sympathetic – seeing the shining knob again and again through their combined hold increased his need, too, and he felt a spike of eagerness to tasting more of the writhing mess in his arms. 

He bit the soft lobe at his lips and murmured breathily, “Can I suck you, little lamb, please?” 

Their rhythm stuttered for a moment, both experiencing similar washes of furious want, evidenced by the drooling cockhead at Harry’s front and the twitching member at his back. Even so, the boy was still suffering shy inexperience and juvenile shame. 

"You want to – to put your mouth...? I—I've never –" 

"I know, I know, darling, that’s why I want to teach you," he continued to spill his promises into Harry's ear, hands still groping and playing his body as if to gentle an anxious beast, though he was the one feeling increasingly bestial, "I want to show you how good you can feel." He timed his wheedling with a twist of his wrist. 

Harry groaned, “Oh _y_ _es_ – Hamish, please, yes!” 

In a flash, he had Harry on his back, pants tore down past his ankles and knees spread wide. He didn’t give the boy time to feel his exposure, just took advantage of his position to offer a new angle of pleasure, mouthing lovingly at the heavy sac while still jerking Harry’s reddened prick. With his tongue coated in spit, he licked the soft middle between the two balls, moaning and drooling more at the taste, the scent of Harry so concentrated at his sex. His nose brushed beside his hand on angry red flesh and he felt as powerful as ever when he heard Harry gasping on every breath. 

“Promise me you’ll warn me before you cum, won’t you, good boy?” 

“I – what – _oh_ –!” 

Merlin took no time at all to draw his lips as far down on Harry’s cock as he could, which would have impressed even his Harry – for this one, it was certainly more pleasure than he’d ever experienced before. The thought made Merlin moan again, full of Harry’s prick, and a whimpered cry burst from Harry as if he’d been struck. 

He continued to use his spit to smooth his mouth’s path, occasionally dipping down as low as he could just to hear more of Harry’s helplessly overwhelmed sounds. His head was tossed back into the pillow, but his twisting and turning let Merlin see that he hadn’t produced any tears (yet). 

Knowing Harry’s body as he did, he knew what to do to get Harry dangerously close to the edge; he moved his mouth back down to his balls, then lower, pointed tongue pressing against his perineum. This was what had the boy finally pushing Merlin’s shoulder, knees closing together with a panted protest. “Oh, don’t, please!” 

For the moment, he repressed the urge to ignore the demurral and shove Harry’s legs apart, eager to return to his self-appointed task – perhaps another time he’d tie the boy down and torment him with pleasure. But in the meanwhile, he wanted to ride the wave of compliancy a little longer, so he let himself draw back, coming up to his knees and catching his breath even as his hands returned to massaging and fondling the slick cock and balls still exposed. 

“It’s alright, little lamb. I know this is new for you, but new isn’t bad, is it? Aren’t I making you feel good, love?” 

He nodded dumbly, seemingly transfixed by the curl of Merlin around the red tip of his member. 

Merlin knew his good boy would do whatever he asked. 

"I'd like to try one more thing, Harry," he whispered, even as his hands lowered to part Harry's thighs. One hand lifted Harry's balls away while the other brushed at his tight furl, and the lad immediately tried to jerk away. 

"What –?" 

"Shh, shh, there's my good little lamb, that's right, don't move." With his crooning and nuzzling at Harry's ear, the brunet relaxed back into the bed again, though his thighs remained taut. "Haven't I been good to you, darling? I want you to feel good, Harry; don't you want me to help you?" His voice dropped to the lull he used when he was trying to bring Harry down into trance, and the tone worked equally well now; the boy was becoming more agreeable before his eyes, muscles no longer tight lines but malleable again. 

"Yes, Hamish," he whispered, head settling gently back down into the cradle of the pillow.  

Merlin's eyes darkened at the show of submission. Every concession Harry made to him just made him want to take more. He stroked his hands along Harry’s spread thighs once more before reaching for the bedside table, collecting a bottle of lube from its topmost drawer. He slicked his fingers quickly, more eager than careful now that his boy was so docile. Between the liquor, the pleasure, and his suggestive tone, there was nothing he couldn’t make Harry do. 

Again, he reached for the twitching little bud of muscles, but this time, the boy didn’t try to move away, freezing instead to remain compliant to Merlin’s request. In an effort to divert his attention, Merlin asked, “Do you want to hear a secret, darling?” That got Harry to look at him rather than scrunching his eyes shut, nodding when Merlin waited for his response. 

"I stroke my cock – thinking about _you_." Harry gasped, possibly at the shock of such a brash confession, but more likely at the sudden intrusion of one of Merlin’s long, thin fingers. Even lubed as he was, there was bound to be some discomfort when the lad was so tense, but Merlin couldn’t bring himself to practice patience anymore. “I think of doing _this_ to you.” He tucked his finger deeper, coating as much of the passage as he could with slick in anticipation of the next digit, careless about finding Harry’s prostate. The frightened whines were driving him mad. “I think of putting my cock in –” 

This made Harry raise his head from the pillow, though he made no further efforts but protest, “You can’t!” His eyes were wet, and while he didn’t seem like he was crying yet, Merlin mused on how quickly he could change that.

“Oh, but I can, darling.” He pushed his finger down to make space for the second, turning his hand back and forth to stretch the muscles further. “I can open you up just enough to fit myself in here.” 

“Please don’t – it hurts, Hamish, _please_ –” But he remained silent as he continued fucking his fingers in and out, not trusting his voice to stay composed under the weight of the heavy arousal overtaking him. “I’ll let you do anything else, Hamish, just don’t – don’t put it in me.” 

That got him shuddering, sliding his finger out slowly so he could grasp his own cock. 

“Turn over.” His voice was low, dark in the way he had tried to keep it from being the rest of the evening. He no longer needed to be sweet with the assured compliance Harry exhibited even now, turning over as he was directed. 

“Please, Hamish –” 

“Hush, Harry. I made you feel good, didn’t I? It’s my turn now.” He fit his cock into the slicked line of the lube-messy arse and squeezed the tops of his thighs together. "Stay still for me... ah, that's right," he panted. His fingers were making white indentations in Harry's skin, and he heard the boy's soft sounds of discomfort at having Merlin’s weight on him, at having his body used so, and Merlin _relished_ in it. "You wanted a present, didn’t you? Well, here it is – you get to make me cum. You were so good for me, I knew you would be, little lamb, my darling boy..." 

His words trailed off as he fucked down into the passage he made for himself, letting the hours (the weeks, the months) of need unspool and taking what he _deserved_.

"Hamish, I don't think I like this, I –" 

"Oh love, just a little longer." He knew Harry would safe word if he needed to; he had done everything to ensure Harry was capable of it even if he was deep into trance and overwhelmed with sensation. But there was something so deliciously perverse in the dual consciousness of their scene, how Merlin moved a bit faster, as if in a race, trying to reach orgasm before his little toy's obedience and courage and comfort ran out. His thighs were plenty slick now, lube and pre-ejaculate sliding together. God, he was so close, he just needed– 

Before Harry could react, Merlin gripped his cheeks, spreading him enough to get the tip of his cock nestled into the rim of his hole. 

" _Hamish_ –!” The shocked cry did nothing but drive Merlin on, even as hands reached back to try to tug at Merlin’s wrists. “No, don’t, _please_ –!"

“Shut up, shut _up_.” He bit the back of Harry’s neck and jerked the blindly grasping hands up above his head, holding them down while his free hand continued to lead his cock into the kissing darkness of Harry’s arse. “Don’t you _fucking_ pretend you didn’t want this. And who would believe you if you told anyone otherwise, hm? You’re just a drunk little _slut_ who begged his teacher to kiss him, to touch him, aren’t you?” 

The only response was a short-lived struggle against the impervious hold and harsh breathing at his failure to free himself.

He fucked down into Harry with shallow thrusts, barely in him at all, but the intrusion was enough for Harry to cry out in discomfort. Merlin had him pinned perfectly; there was nothing the boy could do. That thought pressed the man closer to the precipice, but was really, _truly_ knocked him over was the wet, frightened gasps coming below him – and a glance up to his face and Merlin watched tears falling down Harry’s nose into the pillow he was using to try to muffle his sounds. 

“ _Christ_.”

He pulled out and stripped his cock quickly, moaning through it, loud enough that he _almost_ didn't hear the start of Harry's sobbing at stripes of come marking him. Instead, the sound wrought another swell of pleasure from him and drew the strength out of his muscles. 

He slid up against the wet divot, his movements now eased by his own cum, finding his breath again after he finally jerked out his last drops. Head bowed over Harry’s, he listened to the boy quietly crying a little longer, etching the sound into his memory, knowing he would be thinking of it for ages after tonight. 

"It's time to sleep," he whispered, cradling Harry when he went limp, head buried deeper into the pillows. "I'm going to bring you back in a moment, and you'll remember everything you are – my brave, beautiful, strong knight. At the count of three, you'll feel refreshed and proud for having done _such_ a remarkable job tonight. One. Two." His grip adjusted when he felt Harry twitching to wakefulness in his grasp. "And _three_." 

The man straightened and opened his eye, maintaining just a glimmer of youthfulness when he whispered, "You're a _twisted_ man, Merlin." In one sudden shove, he had Merlin on his back, already twisted around to straddle his thighs before Merlin could remark on the quick change. 

Harry leaned forward to give a desperate kiss, pulling the man's hand to his cock, forcing a swift rhythm. "You monster – you toyed with me, you _fucked me_  – God, I was so close –" There was nothing but panting and unfinished admonishments and praises and wishes and promises, and Merlin just laughed and let Harry take what he needed. 

"Are you going to come for me, then, _little lamb_?" he couldn't help but to whisper cruelly when he heard the familiar cadence of stuttering breath, the precursor to Merlin’s favorite sounds. He adjusted his grip so they shared the work on Harry’s cock. “Go on, show me how much you liked me taking advantage of you.” He waited until Harry was groaning on every other breath to hiss, “I was so hoping you’d come without my permission so I could watch you cry over my knee.” 

" _Merlin._ " The name sounded like both a rebuke and a benediction. Harry's hips jerked into their hands and he made a mess on himself, adding to the wreck Merlin had already left him. Merlin kept the rhythm steady, as hungry to see this Harry lose himself as he was to watch the other Harry succumb to him; he stopped only when he heard the familiar whine, his lover overstimulated and exhausted, unable to push himself any further tonight. 

He was gentle when he helped settle Harry on the bed, moving not at all from Harry’s hold while he leaned over the bedside table and collected tissues to clean them both up as much as possible before their imminent shower. 

When he lay properly on the bed facing his partner, he stoked the side of Harry’s face where there were still tear marks and asked, “How do you feel?" 

Harry looked at him with a still lamb-soft gaze around the familiar sharpness of an agent. "Like the luckiest man alive."

He smiled and brushed the man's hair away from his face. "Ah, I think I have claim to that honor, darling."  

"Mm, perhaps I'll concede to you this time." Catching Merlin’s hand, he pressed kisses to his wrist, his knuckles, the pads of his fingers, worshipful and grateful and loving. 

“You know, you’ll have to be exceedingly nice to me next time.” Next time he went under, next time Merlin wanted to play with the lamb, next time, when he would go even farther. 

He just smiled and kissed Harry sweetly even as he crafted his next games. 

“Oh, love, I intend to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And though I tagged different types of play, remember that to Harry’s in-scene headspace, he does experience the play as actual violations. I guess what I’m saying is that this could be read as assault (even though it should be understood that this scene has definitely been negotiated). So please, proceed with caution. 
> 
> I started this story about this time last year and I pretty pleased with the final product. Hopefully you will be too! I would love to continue this, so please let me know if that's something you'd be interested in. As usual, feel free to point out any errors.


End file.
